


Painful Memories

by BeccaWrites2



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2019-07-07 05:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15901881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeccaWrites2/pseuds/BeccaWrites2
Summary: Sherlock doesn't know how to forget his memories of John after a painful incident. One shot Fanfic.





	Painful Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first fanfiction ever (Posted on Fanfic.net in 2014).  
> Has a lot of self harm and it may be too painful to read.
> 
> PLEASE DON'T READ IF SELF HARM IS TRIGGERING. 
> 
> (I'm adding this fic to AO3 because I'd like to keep all my fics together.)

Sherlocks PoV:

I rolled up into a ball towards the back corner of my room, trying to forget my blond haired companion. It had only been two months since John had passed away, but to me it felt like years. Losing John was the worst thing that could have happen to me. Losing John had put me in a state of depression I had never experienced before. All I could do now was place memories of John in the deepest part of my mind palace and resort to the one thing I never wanted to go back to, self -harm. I kept my tools hidden away in a box under one of the floorboards in my room because I knew no one would find them there.

I used to say that caring is a defect on the losing side and ever since I started caring for John, I guess I really lived up to that. I cared so much for him and I was losing him slowly, so slowly that I didn't realize it until I actually did. I had the defect inside of me, I was the reason John died and it's the same reason why I'm suffering.

I walk to the floorboard where I know my box of tools are. I don't want to use them but I need to. John would be angry with me if he knew I what I was about to do, but he's not here, he can't say anything. I'm on my own now and I can't live with what I've done. I loved John, I still do, but I want to forget. I need to forget.

—

I saw the little black box he put in his breast pocket before we left. I was wondering how much longer it would have taken him to go down this path, but I'm glad it was sooner I thought. We sat at our table and John was pretty antsy. I never saw him so nervous, but I kind of liked him that way. We were served some wine and our order was taken, and that was when he started. "Sherlock, I know you don't like long speeches but I need to tell you something very important. We've been moving this relationship forward at comfortable pace and I believe that it is time that we move ahead and choose a future. I love you and I want to ask you..." John stood up out of his chair and knelt down on his left knee. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the little black box. He opened it and there, sitting in the space between two small white pillows was a ring. I knew this was going to happen, but I was surprised that John had gotten rid of his nerves and turned them into the most joyful smile as he said, " Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?"

"Yes. I will marry you, John Hamish Watson."

—

As the memories of my last times with my dear Watson pass, I begin to pull out my razor blade. Feeling the cold, new, and unused metal between my fingers gave me a bit of a rush. I never felt so alive because a huge piece of me died the day my poor John died. I wanted to do nothing but lay in bed all day and drain the energy out of myself to where I could only feel emptiness. Emotions overwhelmed me, but because I am one of the Holmes brothers, I couldn't control them. I never ate because John had always reminded me that I had to. I rarely went on cases anymore because John was always with me when I solved them. I couldn't put up with anyone anymore because John helped me handle my social skills. I couldn't do anything without my other half, he made me whole. I cried myself to sleep at night. I felt that I should just die to see him again, but I knew that John wouldn't want that. He would want me too stay strong and live my life, but I have no life because my life was with John.

I had my wrist held out and placed the sharp blade on my ivory skin. I felt the sharp edge piercing through the first layer of skin and I needed to go deeper because the deeper I go, the deeper the scar. I had faded scars from years before and all I wanted to do was open them again. My scars reminded me that I needed to feel pain; that because of my inability to express feelings, numbness settled in as a survival mechanism. Numb is what kept me from saving John. Being numb didn't help me with anything, it kept me away from the things I loved and cared for.

Crimson liquid crept out of the open wound I created with the metal. It flowed quickly out of the hole indented in my wrist. At first it scared me but after picking up the razor and examining the beautiful slit I had just created, I felt free of every emotion. I traveled down my arm creating bloody marks as I went. When I saw that the spaces on my skin were now limited I opened my box and pulled out the roll of gauze shoved way in the corner. I wrapped it around my arm covering the scars I had just made. Even though they made me feel free and alive, in some ways they still reminded me of my dead companion.

—

I awoke with the smell of breakfast being prepared in the kitchen. I got up and threw on my silk robe that always seemed to turn John on, but I liked taunting him like that. Walking down the hallway I smelled the one thing that always made me smile: toast. It reminded me that my John loved to put up with me when I was being stubborn. He always got me to eat something and it always had to be the easiest and fastest thing to make because I would figure out he was making me something and I would just leave the flat.

This morning was different, I was eating my first meal as a fiancé to my dear John. I was happy calling John my fiancé. It made me feel somehow closer to him, even though I knew I was already as close as I could be to him.

I sat down at the kitchen table waiting for John, who was frantically trying to finish cooking our meal, to notice that I had sat down. He finally turned around and jumped when he saw me. "I wanted to surprise you."

"You know how I don't like surprises, but its okay you did surprise me."

"How?"

"By caring for me." I smiled, something not so rare anymore, then waited patiently until breakfast was served. John turned around, glanced at me, and grinned. "I love you Holmes."

"And I love you too, Watson."

—

Love...

What is love anyway? If love means standing there watching someone as they die and not being able to help, then I'm heading down the right path. I know that love brought John and I together, but it also tore us apart. Love is just a word to me now, it has no meaning. I still "love" John, but I have to start accepting that he is gone forever and that I can't bring him back. Loving someone that isn't with me anymore is just helping me suffer, I have to let go.

The pain was disappearing and the memories kept rushing back and I needed to take control again. I unwrapped the bloody gauze that was starting to adhere to all the lacerations I created. As I peeled the gauze, the pain of the now reopened cuts shot through all parts of my body. I continued till the last cut was uncovered. Since there was no space left for me to continue self harming, I proceeded to inflict pain by drenching my arm in rubbing alcohol.

Walking toward the bathroom, I realized that I was being a disappointment to both John and myself. I shouldn't be guilty for John's death, and I definitely shouldn't be harming myself for it. John choose to die, he did it to save me, I should not just throw my life away. I once said that alone protected me, but now I know that all it does is expose my weakness and causes me to want to feel pain.

I realize that I am holding the half full, open bottle of rubbing alcohol. Shaking, I start to hold my arm over the sink and tilt the bottle over it. The clear liquid pours out and hits the cuts closer to my palm. The alcohol seeps into the deep indents and I cringe with pain. I try to stop pouring but the pain helps me feel free again, it helps me know I am not weak. Instead I continue pouring, moving the bottle up and down my arm, feeling the immense pain shooting through my body. The feeling makes me wonder if John was ever in much pain when he died.

—

It was Monday, three days after John proposed to me, and we were on our way to our next case. I insisted that the lead Lestrade got on some criminal should be sought out by us. Lestrade was a bit hesitant but eventually agreed. We were happy as can be, the crime solving couple about to catch a criminal. What we didn't know was that it was all going down hill from there. The criminal we were going to catch was a man named Moriarty. James Moriarty. James was a wanted man, he hunted and killed. He took the lives of the innocent and the lives of other criminals who got in his way. Jim was a psychopath, a criminal mastermind, who messed with the lives of others out of personal entertainment because he got bored. At that time we didn't know who he was or how dangerous he could be and we weren't scared.

—

The clear liquid, now tinted light red, flowed down my arm and into the drain in the sink. My arm felt numb from all the pain and for once I was happy being numb. The cuts were now clean so I dried my arm with a towel and applied a new gauze bandage around my arm.

I walked to my bed and laid down. I kept seeing flashes of John's beautiful face which caused me to be distracted from my numb limb. I felt a tear fall from my cheek to the pillow. After a while I was crying to where I could barely breathe. Tears left my eyes like a waterfall and I finally closed my eyes. Minutes later I fell asleep. I dreamt, something I rarely did, of John and the nightmare that replayed in my head.

—

Moriarty was standing in front of me with a scary smirk on his face. Standing in between us was John, and against his head was the barrel of a .22 caliber pistol. John was keeping a serious face, without fear in his eyes, to keep me strong. I knew deeper in him he was afraid of dying, afraid of leaving me behind.

Jim stared me in the eyes. "So you thought you would be able to just pick me up and take me to the Yard? You know i'm not that easy. I never thought you would figure it out, I was right! Oh Mister Holmes I thought you would take better care of your little Johnny."

"Leave him alone, and how do you know who we are? We've never met you before? We haven't even heard of you?"

"Oh that's the mistake you made. I have people Mr. Holmes, I can find out things you don't want me to find. I have that kind of power and that power got me to catch you two before you caught me."

I took a step forward, closer to John. I didn't want this man to hurt him.

"No, no Sherlock Holmes. You stay exactly where you are, no moving or I will blow the brains out of your sweet fiancé."

"You are bloody mad!" John yelled. I heard the fear in his voice. I wanted to be able to tell John that it was okay, that I was going to get him out of the situation he was in.

"No John I am smart, clever is a better word. I thought I could have fun with poor Sherlock here."

"You can have your "fun" with me but you let John go!"

"Aww, it doesn't work like that Sherlock. If I let John go you wouldn't feel weak, and I need you weak."

Moriarty pulled out another pistol from his coat pocket and held it out pointing the barrel at me. He motioned sternly to have John stand at my side and as he moved Jim followed him with the barrel still pointed at his head. I was happy that John was next to me again, but fate didn't seem to be on our side.

"You have a choice Sherlock. You either let John walk away and face your death, or I can kill your precious Johnny and I will let you live to take me away."

"Kill me!" I said without hesitation.

As I finished my answer, I heard a quiet gasp from John. I felt the surprised look on his face, but since I was close to tears because I knew I was leaving him behind I didn't turn to look at him. My heart was breaking and I didn't know if I could have John in my presence anymore so I whispered to him. "John, I need you to leave. I can't have you here any longer. I love you but I don't want our last moments to be any worse."

"I can't leave knowing you are going to die. I'm staying here, by your side no matter what happens... I love you."

A tear rolled down my cheek and before it got to my chin I felt a hand wipe it away.

"I told you not to move!" Jim had this look of death upon his face. John didn't listen and continued standing in the same position.

" I love you Sherlock. I need you to be okay. Be okay for me."

"I'm choosing to die for you. I need you to be okay."

"I love you." He leaned in and kissed me.

"What are you two planning over there? You better listen to me you two or I will blow both your brains out."

John stepped forward toward Moriarty, who was furious, and spoke very seriously. "I will die in place of Sherlock, but you are to leave him alone and be taken away to be locked up for the rest of your life."

"Poor John, offering to let me take your life to protect your mate over there, how sweet. I pinky promise, I will be locked up forever." Jim said cunningly.

"John what are you doing!" I screamed to John.

—

I woke up sweating and out of breath. I ran to the bathroom and immediately turned the water on to wash my face. I didn't want to remember anymore. I can't keep putting myself through the suffering.

I keep remembering because I had no control anymore.

—

BANG!

John's now lifeless body fell to the ground showing the bleeding bullet wound indented in his skull.

"Good bye Johnny!" Moriarty giggled with a smile plastered on his face.

"John..."

I stood there frozen, watching as the blood flowed out of his head. I wanted to be knelt beside him holding his dead body while I cried into him, but I couldn't move, I was stuck. I just watched my John die.

—

I am filled with guilt because I killed John. I insisted we catch Moriarty, I took him along with me. I was the reason he died.

I cried so much already and I didn't need to anymore. I'm done with being in pain and suffering so much. I am done with remembering. I just need to forget.

Forget the painful memories.


End file.
